Page 3 of Mafia Priest

“I knew you’d understand. Duty before pleasure,” Nonno says, already turning and moving away.

“It will be fine, Bianca,” the priest says, voice low. “Sometimes these things can’t be helped.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Father. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I smile, but I doubt it reaches my eyes. Because Nonno didn’t sayhehad “family business.” No, he saidwe. Suddenly cold despite the warmth of the summer day, I approach the armored Mercedes.

Two

Salvatore

The last penitentleft fifteen minutes ago, but I can’t return to the rectory. Bianca hasn’t set foot in the cathedral all week, but shenevermisses confession and I need to see her. I need to know she’s okay.

So, I wait.

But at least this confessional is modern, unlike the cramped closets of my childhood. Low, warm lighting, potted plants, comfortable chairs, even a couch. Most penitents choose a chair, but not Bianca. Week after week, she sits on that damn couch. Crossing her legs at the ankle, so innocent, so fucking proper, she waits for me to join her. And God help me, but I do. Every week, I sit beside her as she confesses the same small sins, close enough to touch if I were willing to blow up both of our lives.

Her confessions trouble me. Not the repetition. Human nature is hellbent on repeating mistakes. No, it’s the sins shedoesn’tconfess.

She’s young, gorgeous, and in her sexual prime. Yes, Mancini has kept her on a tight leash, at least until recently, but I’ve observed his men around her. The way they stare at her makes me want to pop every last one of them. If she encouraged them, they’d find a way.

Maybe she just wants nothing to do with mobsters. I wouldn’t blame her after what happened to her father. But she’s never even confessed to touching herself.No oneis that innocent, yet somehow, she is—pure and untouched in a sea of vice. The irony stings. The only woman to tempt me is the last woman I should pursue.

Leaving the priesthood would be difficult, yet there are precedents. But I made a promise to an organization a hell of a lot less forgiving than the Catholic Church when I was younger than Bianca. An organization I can never leave, not fully.

Paul claimed it was better to marry than to burn. I’d marry her in a heartbeat, but my proposal wouldn’t be honorable in the eyes of an old Sicilian like Mancini. She deserves better than a defrocked priest old enough to be her father, especially one with my baggage. Or that’s how Mancini would see it, and he wouldn’t be wrong.

But sometimes I wonder how she would see it. Sometimes, I suspect she feels this, too. BecausesometimesI catch her watching me when she thinks I’m not looking, her expression less innocent.

But the joke’s on her—I’m always looking.

I can’t fucking look away.

* * *

Bianca

The city is sweltering, but the car is as cold as a crypt. Trapped in its backseat, I feel like I’m being buried alive. But then I’ve felt that way all week—claustrophobic, cut off, caged. The sad part is that I’ve never been free. I’ve always been a prisoner. I was simply too stupid to notice until the cell door slammed shut.

Peering through bulletproof glass, I search for Frankie. But the sidewalk is empty, the neighborhood quiet. No one can see me through the tinted windows. No one would know if I pounded on the glass, and of course it would never break. If I screamed, no one would hear.

Shivering, I pray Frankie will return before I lose my nerve. I should have come sooner. But Nonno has been extra strict all week, yet he’s too superstitious to deny me this.

I don’t want to disappoint him, but I can’t do what he wants this time. I just can’t. I keep praying he’ll relent. But if God hears my prayers, he’s not answering.

Even God turns a blind eye to the sins of men like my grandfather. Everyone does. Mama tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. Nonno always gets his way, which makes running to Father Costa risky.

I’m not dumb. I’m aware that he’s not just a priest but amafiapriest, and I’m old enough to know what that means. But I’m in over my head, and he’s my only friend. And while he may be a priest, his association with my family suggests his morality is flexible. I’m counting on that, counting on my offer being one he can’t refuse despite his vows. Still, drawing him deeper into my family’s world is selfish. My virginity is poor compensation for the risk I’ll be asking him to take, but it’s all I have to offer.

Nonno may spoil me, but I have little money of my own. Even my jewelry he keeps locked away. My body is my only bargaining chip, meaning there’s no one I can turn tootherthan Father Costa. The thought of any other man touching me makes me sick. So even if he can’t help me, even if I have to sacrifice myself to protect Elise, this is one thing Icandecide. I can choose who I give my virginity to, and it can only be him…

Finally, Frankie frees me from the car. Heat rises off the pavement, a reminder that my coat is too warm for the weather. Unfortunately, it’s necessary. Frankie reports everything back to Nonno, and my grandfather would lose his mind over this dress.

Thankfully, my guard doesn’t comment on my odd choice of attire. Still, my heart pounds as I follow him into the cathedral, and I almost tell him to just take me home.

Instead, I dip my fingers into the basin of holy water. Crossing myself, I pray this will work. If it doesn’t, I’m out of options. Nonno never backs down. But maybe this time, he can somehow be stopped.

So tonight, I’ll confess everything.

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